


Infiltration

by Silver33650



Series: Tarnished Ghosts and Polished Shadows [7]
Category: Fortnite (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Memory Loss, Reunions, Spies & Secret Agents, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver33650/pseuds/Silver33650
Summary: Lynx, in the days when she was still a normal spy, as Ghost changes around her.
Series: Tarnished Ghosts and Polished Shadows [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923190
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. before

**Author's Note:**

> okay so I think I have an ending in mind for this series. now that I know how to update the notes for it, there's some more on that there.  
> also this is probably the most creative liberty I've taken so far but this headcanon would not be stopped and fills in a lot of holes

The first time she saw him, he rang the bell on the counter politely and was perfectly cordial in delivering his request for a phonograph. She told him that this wasn't an antique store, and he raised an eyebrow at her and left. 

The second time she saw him, he rang the bell on the counter insistently and wore a scowl as he asked where the jazz records were. She told him they were sold out, even though they weren't, because he was being kind of a jerk, and his scowl sharpened into a sneer as he left. 

The third time she saw him, he rang the bell on the counter relentlessly and she ignored him out of spite until she realized he wouldn't be deterred. She reached out to yank it from under him, but he flattened him palm against it and slid it away from her easily. "Hardy little thing," he commented, and the bell turned to gold as he twisted it in his hand. He set it down and gave it a quick tap. It sounded just the same. "Much better."

That time he gave a different request: to work for him at his company. "Your duties will include taking notes, tracking my schedule, and sporadic bouts of espionage. What do you say?"

"You've got to be kidding me," she scoffed. 

"Thank you for implying I have a sense of humor, but this isn't an instance where I'm using it. Do you have something to write on?" Frowning, she tore a page from her sketchbook and handed it over with her pencil. He shielded the sheet with his right hand while he wrote with his left, then held up the paper. "This is how much I will pay you."

There were five digits. "Per year?" she asked. 

"Per month."

Lynx liked to think that she didn't care much about money, but there are some numbers too good to pass up. 

* * *

His name was Midas, and the company was called Ghost, and she wasn't sure whether to believe him on either front but it was hard to argue with the paycheck. The job was rather boring at first, like she was some sort of college intern. Get coffee. Make copies. Draft memos. Schedule meetings. 

Then they were strange. Wait at the bus stop on Fifth and only get on if the bus is late and take it to the park. Walk along the river at noon and watch for a man with a purple briefcase to give you two cards. Use this card to buy fourteen hydrangeas at the drug store, but use this card instead to buy a bouquet of roses if the cashier has red hair. 

He plucked a blossom to twirl in his hand when she returned with the plants. "Do you know the meaning of roses?"

"Love?" she guessed. 

"For normal people, yes. But for a spy, it means danger of the worst sort."

"Why?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want an answer to," he said, gilding the petals without looking up. 

The thing was, she did want to know, so she didn't let the conversation end there. His lips twitched when she persisted. "What do you think when you see someone carrying a bouquet of roses?" he asked. 

"That they're in- oh." He waved for her to continue, so she explained. "Carrying roses is conspicuous. Anyone seeing someone doing that would make assumptions and wonder about them, maybe even remember them enough to recognize them again in the future. I'd think that'd be bad for a spy."

"I appreciate a pupil who can catch on quickly." He set the rose on the table and leaned back in his chair. "This is not a profession for those lacking in analysis skills, nor can one lack the ability to formulate prompt evaluations. You have been a fine secretary, but what I really need is an agent." He looked up at her over the rim of his glasses. His eyes were a strange shade of hazel, hovering between green and gold. "What do you say?"

She said yes, because now things were finally starting to get interesting. 

* * *

After that, the tasks became more dangerous, and required, more often than not, leaving the city. But he always made sure she was able to do her livestream at night, and had enough time to work on her comics and volunteer at the shelter. 

"Why?" she asked, after they had nailed down the details of a mission. 

"Because espionage is not just about surveillance," he said. "It is also about subterfuge." He smirked. "Why do you think I chose you in the first place?" 

She hadn't asked that yet, because she didn't really want to know. She had pretty good guesses, however, and figured she was right. So she kept up her update schedule, and responded to her top commenters, and visited the shelter to play with the cats. As if nothing had changed in her life, as if everything was normal. 

They were partners, in those days, tackling missions as a pair. He would take the lead, going into danger first and covering her back on the way out. He had a certain reputation at Ghost, and it was well deserved. He was, in a word, swift. He stole around the halls they infiltrated with a deftness that she became determined to emulate. Like a cat, she told herself, like the heroine of her comics. 

Which, of course, was the whole reason he'd chosen her. "What did you want to be when you grew up?" he asked her one day. 

"A superhero," she said, knowing it would sound dorky. 

"A far cry from record shop clerk, artist, streamer, or shelter volunteer."

"Well, you only get one life. But spy is pretty close to superhero."

He nodded. "I think we can get it closer." That was when he gave her the first version of the suit, and it would go through several iterations over the years, improving rapidly when Jules was finally hired years later. But for now, she was thrilled; it had probably been expensive. Not that that was a problem for him, obviously, but he still would've needed a whole team to engineer it. 

"Do you have something like this too?" she asked him. 

He scoffed. "Hardly. Haven't you heard that the most dangerous sort of man is one in a suit?"

Despite this, he was not, as she'd thought, nearly as high up in the agency as he seemed. At least, not yet, because his ambition was clear in every action he took. He even had a few rivals, including a blonde fellow from another department whom Lynx found vaguely familiar when they were finally introduced. "John," he said, shaking her hand firmly, "John Jones. I get caught in an unfortunate amount of pictures, which normally isn't becoming of a spy. But I'm in a league of my own."

"What he means is that he's the most despicable species of mole," Midas said, but there was a fond twist to his lips as he spoke. 

"Mole is such an ugly word."

"Well, I can't say I've heard you called handsome."

"We can't all have the features of classical nobility. What, was your dad some duke or something?"

Midas' expression turned icy. "I wouldn't know," he snapped, and left. 

Still, it was clear the two were friends, even close, despite their rivalry. They could be found playing cards in the lunchroom fairly often, and it was easy to tell when Midas was losing because there would be a golden stack of discards off to the side. Lynx asked John about it one day in the lunchroom. "We both worked in finance before moving over here," he explained. "He doesn't get out much. No family, aside from a little sister away at some fancy boarding school somewhere. I'm sure you've noticed that he never misses her calls."

Lynx nodded. It had happened a few times, his blatant lie of "of course I have time to talk" while they were rappelling down the side of a building or paging through filing cabinets or wrestling with guards. "Any other dirty secrets?" she asked. 

"Oh, he probably has tons. I don't even trust him, and I consider him my best friend. But when you're the one maintaining the files on everyone, it comes with the territory."

"File?"

"Everyone has a file. Even you."

She was instantly curious. "What's in it?"

He grinned. "Spoilers," he said, taking a sip of his coffee. "It's going to be a while before you have enough clearance for that, if ever."

* * *

She proved herself as an agent quickly, or at least, it seemed that way. But it was hard to tell anything for sure with Midas. If she were to draw him, there were only a few expressions she could ever place on his face. 

First, a scowl. Lynx wasn't quite sure if it was just resting bitch face or something else, but he was almost never happy. And when he was, he didn't really smile. Instead, it was always a smirk. Condescending, arrogant. A reminder that you were beneath him. This expression faded quickly, so that it was hard to grasp just how superior he thought himself. But there was no mistaking the sourness that his smirk left on observers. 

There was a third expression, but he wore it very rarely, and usually only when a certain topic came up. Ghost had no shortage of rival organizations, but one of them irked Midas more than the rest: Shadow, with its symbol of a hexagon enclosing a gas mask. Definitely sinister. 

"They are the worst sort of people. No respect for their own agents. Deplorable. Despicable." Midas would go on for hours with insults, if permitted, with his eyes glazing over with disgust. There the third expression appeared, and she wasn't quite sure how to label it. Always ending his rants with, "but they have good intel, and that's why we can't help but deal with them."

"Deal with" usually meant "steal ruthlessly from," because if there was one thing Midas loved more than gold, it was thievery, with the punchline being that his victims were better off financially than they were before. Too bad about those top secret files, but now you have a golden stapler. It's fair. 

"Does your power work on living things too?" she finally asked. 

"Yes. But bullets will kill a man faster every time." He smirked. "Not that that's always preferred."

"So why bother having a job when you can turn anything to gold?"

"To everything there is a season," he recited. "A time to wait, and a time to have worth. This is the waiting season. Ask me again in a few years."

She wouldn't have to do that, because by then it would be obvious. 

* * *

Often their missions involved dreary buildings, long empty of its employees save for the security detail. But every once in a while, they got to go to more interesting places. Such as this fancy party, a benefit for some venture that Ghost had a stake in. Midas had gone all out for the occasion, though he'd curiously chosen a black vest to contrast with the rest of his ghostly attire. 

She found him leaning against a wall, head down, focused on his pocketwatch. "I got us drinks," she said, "although it looks like you've had enough already."

"Then I'm glad the ruse is working. There are other ways to listen besides one's ears." He paused, then nodded and snapped the lid shut. She had never known him to wear wristwatches, oddly. "Right on schedule." He accepted the champagne flute from her, downed it, and returned it to her. "Apologies, but I have a prior engagement."

"You're leaving?"

"This shouldn't take long. And if I don't attend to this now, there'll be more trouble later. I advise you to find another dance partner in the meantime."

She downed her glass as he left and slammed them both on the next tray she found, then headed toward the restroom. But someone brushed her arm on the way over. "He's a slippery one, isn't he?" John said, bearing a surprisingly suave grin. 

"What are you doing here?"

"I should ask you the same thing. But then again, your partner does have a history of inventing missions to suit his own goals." He offered his arm, and she took it, although not without grumbling. They strolled to the dance floor and swayed amid the guests. She kept her eyes on others, but she could feel his eyes on her, and finally she confronted him about it. 

"I worry," he admitted. "You two are... poorly matched, in my opinion, and it's not just me who thinks that. There are some people in upper management who are interested in partnering you with anyone else."

"Why?"

"Hasn't he told you the rule about questions?" But he was smiling, until he continued. "My advice to you? Consider what you want out of this life, and whether he's helping you get there."

"I don't have any grand ambitions myself," she said, shrugging. 

But he shook his head and spun her away. "I wasn't just talking about your career."

* * *

Some time after this, she met Brutus for the first time. 

Lynx expected this would be the last time also, because there were plenty of other people she had met and then never seen again. Midas had this talent for pulling people into his orbit with his charm and then leaving them to spin in space indefinitely. Sometimes his satellites collided, but usually they stayed apart. But Brutus was more like a comet, flying past regularly and catching Midas' attention each time. 

Usually, this happened at the fortress in the mountains, where Brutus was stationed with fair regularity. The second time it happened, Midas took them up to the roof with a key that Lynx suspected had been borrowed under dubious circumstances. But the view was amazing, looking out onto the sea. The waves were choppy, wind whistling around them and cutting through their coats. It was so windy that they had to shout, then eventually gave up and sat in silence before they all got too cold to stay out any longer. They huddled in the stairwell for a few minutes before heading back down, but Lynx felt like she was the only one of them who actually needed to warm up. 

Brutus claimed he didn't feel the cold, having trained himself to ignore it. Midas claimed that the frosty air was worth the scenery. "I didn't get out much as a child," he confessed, "so I love the outdoors. I spent the first nine years of my life stuck inside."

"Really?"

He laughed. "Always assumed you're being lied to," he chided, but his voice sounded a bit hollow. Maybe it was just because of the echo in the stairwell. They ran down the steps, with Brutus following. With their hands on opposite railings, the other brushing up against each other sometimes as they went. She found it weird that he hadn't worn gloves, but he probably just wanted to avoid accidentally turning them to gold. 

* * *

Minimizing risk was a critical part of their jobs, but so was responding to unforeseen risks. Always was there the possibility that one of them might be left behind to face the unknown, or be forced into a situation where betrayal was necessary to maintain their cover. As the more experienced half of their duo, it was understood, by them both, without being stated, that it would be him who would be left behind. And while it was rare that they found themselves in a situation where the worst happened, she always followed his lead when it did. 

Until one day, when she didn't. 

They both got out alive, and far more efficiently than his plan would've allowed, but his jaw was tight when they made it back to the car. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, gritting his teeth as he sped around the corners of the city. She had never seen him so angry. " _Don't_ ," he said, punctuating every word, " _don't you ever_ -"

His phone rang, trilling the distinctive jingle that she'd heard a few times before, reserved for use by his only family. His face relaxed as he answered. "Jules?" He listened, slowing the car slightly. "Of course I have time to talk." 

She smirked as she listened to him reassure his sister about her upcoming exam, offer consolation about an inept instructor, give advice about some disagreement she'd had with her roommate. He was still on the phone when they reached the office. "We're not done here," he snarled with his hand over the receiver as they parted ways, but they never discussed the incident again. 

* * *

She understood his anger. He was the one who would have to explain, who would take responsibility, who would suffer, should anything go wrong. But there was a small part of her that awoke in the night that wondered if there was another source of his anger, fluttering in the background of her dreams, and vanishing the moment her eyes opened in the morning. 

_He cares for nothing and no one, with one exception_ , Brutus had told her, over and over. And Lynx believed that. To a point. 

Lynx was an artist. She had been studying faces since she could hold a pencil, carefully spotting all the contours in a face that indicated the presence of love or loss. They were always present. One just had to look hard enough, and Midas was no exception. 

* * *

One morning, she was late to the shelter for her shift. Not due to any mission, but because she'd overslept after staying up too late playing the latest season of one of the games she streamed regularly. Stumbling into the lobby, where she was surprised to find a tall, slim figure at the desk. She had to blink a few times, as he turned around, before his face settled into one she recognized. "What are you doing here?"

Midas stroked the head of the kitten he held. A kitten that seemed to be all forelegs and chest but had wide eyes and a loud purr. The volunteers behind the desk were doing their best to smile, but they were clearly unnerved. "I've always wanted a pet," he admitted, "and this little guy seemed a tad too unique to be adopted by the usual clientele."

Their first order of business: a name. Her first suggestion was "Meowscles" and as expected, Midas hated it right out of the gate. "Please spare me a pun in my cat's name," he begged, appealing to her to use something more classical. "Titan. Atlas. Prometheus."

But the kitten was already purring under Lynx's palm and refused to respond to anything else. Meowscles would continue to prefer her company to Midas', and it was easy to see why. Midas treated him like a science experiment, all tests and evaluations, until she finally yelled at him and taught him how to be a proper cat dad. Lynx treated Meowscles like a cat, because he was a cat, just a really weird one. He grew up as quickly as a normal kitten, but into a body as tall as a normal man. He still played with string and chased laser pointers, but could also bench press as much as Brutus. 

"How did you find out about him?" Lynx asked. "Is this another one of your made-up missions?"

"How rude of you to suggest that I do things without reason," Midas said. "But I must admit, this was a bit more impulsive than my usual motives. Cats are certainly useful to have around. Better eyesight, better sense of smell, always landing on their feet..."

"I do that too."

"Merely because I spent a lot of money on that particular technology. Besides, cats have nine lives, unlike you." She laughed, but he didn't. 

So it didn't surprise her when he eventually started bringing Meowscles along with them on missions. It was the best decision he'd ever made. Meowscles was an excellent agent, and their team was all the more effective for it. Odder than ever, but quickly becoming the star of the agency, to the chagrin- and confusion- of everyone else. 

* * *

"Things are about to change around here," he told her. 

His office had gotten cramped as of late, with all the failed inventions wrapped in gold he'd saved from the trash whenever his sister miscalculated a fuse line or overexerted some circuit. Jules hadn't been working at Ghost very long, but she'd been very productive. Even at her worst she'd crafted these beautiful failures, staring down at the desk and the two chairs positioned on either side. To Lynx, it constantly felt like she was under inspection, like all the misfit machines were sitting in judgment of her and him. 

"Tired of being at the bottom of the list for a bigger office?" she teased. 

"I suppose that is part of the problem," he admitted. He rubbed the back of his head. "The llama hangs a bit low over my chair, as you can see."

She laughed. "You could put it somewhere else."

"It was Jules' first project here. I wouldn't have it anywhere else."

"When is she going to start working with us?" Lynx asked. She knew how long Midas had been looking forward to her working here; she assumed it was to join him in the intelligence department. 

But instead, he was scowling. "Jules is not cut out for spy work," he said. "Her talents lie elsewhere, and it is my intention to keep her as ignorant of our real business here as I possibly can." He paused, then looked at her with an appraising expression. "That being said, Jules does not make friends easily. Quite the opposite of another young woman here."

Lynx blinked. "You... want me to be friends with your sister?"

"I think it would benefit you both. And it would give me peace of mind that she's being looked after. Peace of mind that I will desperately need in my new position." He drummed his fingers on his desk. "And if she asks, Meowscles is your cat. I told Jules she was allergic growing up and I'd never hear the end of it if she realized I was lying."

It was the most remarkable request she had ever received from him, and besides, she was pretty curious about this sister of his. So she said yes, and took Jules out to lunch the next day. She did the same thing a week later, until it had become a habit and they were sending each other emails throughout the day. 

The siblings were... a study in contrasts. Where he was debonair, she was down to earth. Where he had dreams, she had designs. Where he doubled down, she debated. But they both had a tendency to be nosy; they both had a tendency to give advice unsolicited and ignore any counterarguments. Sometimes Lynx felt like she was just hanging out with Midas, except ten years younger. And when she had to deal with the both of them at once? At their worst, they were unbearable. But they were still good people, and they did have fun together. 

A weekday movie night, where they shared a large bowl of popcorn. A walk through the park after lunch. A board game night in Midas' office, watched by the golden statues as the phonograph played jazz in the corner. Midas swayed his head in time with the beat, but Lynx and Jules kept glancing at each other, bored. Finally, Lynx couldn't take it any more, and put on a rock record from the current century. Midas frowned, but Lynx started bobbing her head, and then Jules did too, until they were both standing and dancing and singing along. Midas crossed his arms and remained sitting, but the second time the chorus came around, they tugged on his shoulders, pulled at his arms, and forced him up. At that point, he couldn't resist either, and they were all singing and bouncing until the song finally ended. Midas straightened his tie and sat back down. "That never happened," he said, moving his piece around the board. 

But then the stress of Midas' new position got to be too much, and he joined them less and less, until Lynx and Jules were always having their ice cream alone. 

* * *

Though it took a while to schedule, there was a party held on the _Marigold_ in honor of Midas' promotion, although officially it was a "recon mission" and thus it was limited to the agents in his inner circle. That didn't include Jules, which rubbed Lynx the wrong way. Besides the fact that Midas and Jules were siblings, Lynx enjoyed being her friend; she was almost lonely among the other agents here, petting Meowscles on the prow of the ship while the others celebrated. Even John couldn't pull her away, though he certainly tried. 

"A bunch of us decided this is also a party to celebrate his big three-oh," he said, waving a beer. "Although I think he might've had too much already. We had to remind him that was this year." He laughed way harder at this than any sober person would. "Can you believe that?"

Midas found her eventually, winding his way over with a glass of scotch perched in his hand. He sat down with his usual grace, however. "It's a shame I'll be too busy to accompany you on future missions," he told her wistfully. His eyes were very golden behind his glasses, but maybe that was just the alcohol. "I know the two of you will be fine without me. You are truly among the agency's finest."

Meowscles whined, his eyes wide and watery. Lynx scratched behind his ear. "You still have me, silly," she reminded him. But Meowscles wouldn't be so easily comforted, and when Lynx looked to Midas for help, she could tell that the wheels were turning in his head. 

A few weeks later, he invited them back to the yacht and unveiled its newest addition: a giant golden statue of himself in the main room, towering over the space, literally holding the world in his hand. 

Lynx almost burst into laughter, and not in a kind way. "This is your solution?" 

But Meowscles had darted to the statue's side, sniffing its legs and purring. Midas crossed his arms in satisfaction. "Jules isn't the only genius in the family," he said, smirking. 

* * *

He still went on missions, sometimes. Usually when there was something to steal, and it was of exceptional value. Lynx thought that these missions would be riskier, but instead, they were almost laughably easy. Nonexistent resistance. Inept security. Guards pulled out of their path by impossibly timely circumstance. It was enough to make even a rookie agent suspicious, but Lynx was experienced enough to know that confronting about him about it held its own danger. 

These missions had a habit of going the smoothest, and this time was no exception, as the man they'd been hoping to avoid was slouched in the chair with his throat slit. Midas' hands had a slight tremor as he picked up the folder on the desk, though his expression was calm. He opened it, frowned at the paper inside, then crumpled it and turned it to gold. "Useless," he muttered. 

"What did it say?"

"Nothing of import." 

She knew that wasn't true, since she'd actually seen the message reflected in the window behind him. _Where does the butterfly go when it rains?_ A question she'd seen before, in other folders from Shadow, always falling into Midas' hands with stunning coincidence when their objective lay elsewhere. It had helped her to finally identify the last of his expressions. Midas' three moods: angry, arrogant, and ashamed. 

* * *

It was becoming harder to remain friends with Jules. She complained nearly constantly about Midas' requests and the lack of context behind them. "What would anyone even want with a gun that fires this fast?" she whined about his latest fancy, and Lynx bit her tongue, knowing exactly what had prompted this one. Jules spent the rest of their lunch hour mocking Midas, sitting up straight and folding her hands and trying to look serious. "My name's Midas and I'm soooo bossy and important," she said, halfheartedly trying to emulate his speech patterns. "I was bossy growing up and I'm still bossy now. But I'm too busy to explain anything, so don't bother asking. You're dismissed."

Midas shrugged off Lynx's concerns any time she tried to present them. "There are many things that must be kept from Jules," was his constant refrain. Lynx hated that. Jules was too inquisitive, too eager to deconstruct things and build them back better. How long before she got too frustrated about the lack of answers she received? Before she started to sabotage things, look for other jobs? 

That didn't concern him either. "She has more freedom here than anywhere else she could go. Besides," he added, spinning the purple stress cube on his desk, "I am her only family. She doesn't have anyone else." A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Unless you know something. Which you would be obligated to tell me about. Immediately."

Lynx laughed. "Jules only has eyes for machines, just like how you only love money."

"How reassuring. And I'll have you know I take that as a compliment." He let the cube fall on its side and started spinning it in the opposite direction. "You may have a point, however. Perhaps I should expand Jules' group of friends. Introduce her to Vendetta, or Stratus, maybe."

More agents, more people who would only know Jules as Midas'-little-sister-who-can't-know-too-much and not as a real person. So Lynx kept listening to Jules' rants and kept quiet, but she didn't stop being bothered by it. 

* * *

"How would you draw out something that's hidden?" 

He was bouncing a ball back and forth between his hands. Glittering white and silver, it looked like one of those dollar store bouncy balls for children. An odd choice, considering his preference for decadence and antiques, but certainly not worth asking about. He'd probably have it turned to gold by the end of their meeting, as he often did with most objects he fidgeted with. 

"With bait, obviously," she said. 

"Something benign, or something aggressive?"

She considered. "Benign." 

He nodded. "I agree. But unfortunately, another agent already picked aggressive, and I don't want to disappoint him."

"Let me guess: Brutus?"

He smirked. "Lucky guess."

The ball was still normal when she left, but now he was staring into it like it would reveal the future. 

* * *

"I have something to ask of you."

They were alone in his office. She could feel the eyes of all his golden statues on her. Watching. Waiting. "Yes?"

"There is a place," he began, then stopped. "We have an opportunity-" He rapped his fingers on the desk, then stood. "Come with me."

They went down to one of the basements and made their way to a large room protected by several checkpoints. In the center was a circular table, and he pressed a button on it, causing a hologram of an island to appear on it. She recognized the device as something Jules had worked on, but she didn't know the place the map was supposed to show. 

"This island is not what it seems," he said, staring at it. "It has a secret, and we are determined to figure out what it is." He glanced at her. "That's where you come in. The military is launching their own expedition to this place, using intel gathered from robots Jules built for them. The government means to seize this island for itself, but we know more about it than them. Slightly, but enough. That's where you come in."

"You want me to go with them?" 

He nodded. 

Something didn't add up. "This doesn't sound that dangerous-"

"But it is. It is the most dangerous thing I will ever ask of you. I debated many, many times before deciding on you." He glanced back at the map, then locked eyes with her. "Lynx. You are my ace, the one I trust more than anyone else here. I can't afford to lose you, but I also can't afford to waste this chance. If you say no-"

"I'm not going to say no."

"Don't say that until I tell you everything."

"Then start talking."

He didn't, not until they returned to his office and he ensured they wouldn't be disturbed. The danger was mostly in all the things they didn't know, which was nearly everything. They knew it was an island. They knew it was inhabited. They even knew the names of a few places- Dusty Divot, Tilted Towers, Salty Springs. What they didn't know was nearly everything else. 

"Time does not work on the island in a manner consistent with the rest of the known universe," he said. "Note that this hypothesis is merely based on observations. Structures are destroyed, rebuilt crudely, and then... they're back, as if nothing happened. We have reason to believe this is indicative of a yet unknown type of singularity. However, this loop around the island presents a number of difficulties for communications. We received video feed back from the scout robots, yet..." He paused. "The sound is... distorted, somehow, to say nothing of the video. There is no guarantee that we would be able to communicate with you upon reaching the island, or even get you back out."

The more he explained, the less sure she became about accepting the mission. The risk of being stranded there was high. She was intrigued, but... 

He could tell he was losing her. "You will, naturally, receive a large bonus for this," he said, pulling out a paper with a number large enough to make her eyes wide. "And being that we are old friends, I will also grant you a personal favor."

"Oh?" This was the most shocking thing he had told her so far. Nothing was ever personal with this man. 

"Before you leave, we will meet here, in my office, for an hour, and I will allow you the opportunity to ask me as many questions as you like, provided they can be answered with yes or no, and I will tell you the truth every time. The moment you ask me a question that cannot be answered with yes or no, however, the discussion will end immediately."

She thought about this. It was more valuable than the money she might never be able to spend. Finally, she held out her hand, and he shook it, his relief so plain on his face that it was unsettling. 

* * *

He reviewed the rules with her, on her last day, and she nodded her way through them. He folded his hands on his desk, glanced at his pocketwatch laying out on the desk, then looked directly into her eyes. "Go."

"Do you know where Meowscles came from before the shelter?" _No._

"Do you still hate the name?" A chuckle. _Yes._

"Are you going to take good care of him while I'm gone?" He rolled his eyes. _Yes._

"Did you really spend the first nine years of your life indoors?" _Yes._

"What about-" _No._

She frowned. "You didn't let me finish." _I know you were going to say Jules. Go on._

"Have you ever killed someone by turning them to gold?" His gaze shifted. Subtly, but enough for her to notice that he was looking past her instead of at her. She had not expected to see shame on his face at this question. _Yes._

"More than once?" _No._ Steadily, almost with relief, as his eyes focused on her again. 

"Have you been lying about your age?" _Yes._

_Ha!_ She wondered if John had that in Midas' file, or if he'd been trying to tell her. "Are you loyal to Ghost?" _Yes._ Too quickly. 

"Are you loyal only to Ghost?" _Yes._ Also too quickly. But she couldn't figure out how to word the question in a way that would allow for only one answer, so she moved on. 

"Is this mission as dangerous as you say it is?" He hesitated. _No._

That gave her pause. "Have you known about this island for a long time?" _Yes._

That annoyed her. "Do you know more about this island than you've told me?" He sighed. _Yes._

That _really_ annoyed her. There was another question she wanted to ask, had wanted for years to ask, but... "Would you ever take this mission yourself?" 

He opened his mouth, then shut it. She raised an eyebrow. He looked out the window, sweeping his gaze over the city. "No."

She stood up. "I think we're done here."

"Lynx, wait," he said. "You have to let me provide context here-"

"You don't need to. I'm ready to go now."

* * *

He gave her one last gift before she left: a whole bag of communicators, the kind they'd worn in their ears on missions to keep in touch, with instructions on how to build more if needed. 

"Pass them along to anyone promising you meet on the island," he said. "There may come a time when we need them." She nodded as she accepted the bag, keeping her head down. She knew he just wanted more pawns to use for himself. All while he sat in his stately office and spun his deceptions through all the departments. 

"Lynx." His voice was gentle. "Are you all right?"

She looked up at him. Studied every inch of his lying face. The square glasses. The golden eyes. The ever-present scowl, soft now but sure to sharpen at a moment's notice, such as when he heard what she would say next. "Don't ask questions you don't want an answer to," she told him, and left. 

* * *

Lynx's quarters were surprisingly cozy. There was enough room to set up her usual equipment and still have some free space. She chatted with the rest of the exploration team and asked the usual questions. Nobody seemed too suspicious, but she knew better than to let down her guard. 

She was unpacking the rest of her stuff at the end of her first day when she found a folder she didn't remember packing. She pulled out the first page without reading the rest. 

_I know it won't change anything, but I figured you should know. Usual protocol applies. -John_

So she rummaged in the bag until she found the lighter she expected, put on her coat, and took the folder outside, sitting in the snow as far from the building as she could without losing too much light to see. While the folder was plain, it was clear from the material inside it that it would've borne the top secret stamp in the office. 

The first page was a typical personnel overview. Lynx was a bit surprised to recognize the name, however vaguely. Rook, who'd been John's assistant before Janice. She kept going. 

The next few pages were where it got interesting. Rook had, apparently, been sent to the island already. There was a drawing of something that looked like a butterfly. Status updates on Rook's position and vitals, but they didn't make sense. The timestamps jumped around, sometimes even coincided, with weird gaps where it seemed, by all appearances, that Rook had been _dead_. Transcripts of communications, where Rook's half was just gibberish. Question marks dotted the pages, with some parts underlined. The word "loop" appeared often. There was another picture of a strange machine that appeared to be a drone of some sort. More question marks surrounded it, with notes about teleportation and disintegration around it. 

And of course, on every page, at the bottom, was Midas' signature, indicating his review and acknowledgment.

She thought about tearing up the pages, but that was too risky, no matter how good it would feel. There was only one way to properly destroy documents. She burned it all and let the ashes blow away with the snow. 

* * *

It was almost a relief when she forgot all of this. For a time, at least. 


	2. after

Lynx lived in Frosty Flights and was supposed to be a member of Sgt Winter's expedition team, but mostly she played video games and drew comics and occasionally shot at anyone who tried to disturb her. She was a pretty good shot, but the problem was that she only ever had on her what was nearby, which was usually common while visitors were often equipped with rare or better. It was annoying, particularly if the bus route passed over her part of the island, but people normally didn't land at Frosty for any reason other than to grab a plane and thus left her in relative peace. 

Every so often, she was convinced to do actual work, so she'd put on her suit and take a plane and fly over the island until something caught her eye and she added it to the map. Then she'd return to her room and start drawing again, and she had plenty of subjects to choose from. 

The superheroes of the film they showed at Risky Reels on the weekends. The man whose face seemed to be everywhere, with his blue eyes and blond hair and a cocky expression that turned vacant when you told him a joke. That one seemed to stick with her a lot, like she knew him. But considering how often she saw him around, that was hardly surprising, though it was strange that she always seemed to draw him with a more hawkish expression than she ever saw him wear. 

She drew the faded faces that appeared in her dreams, of people she didn't recognize. A buff cat standing on two legs. A girl wearing goggles and an expression that teetered between contentment and condescension. A man with a scowl whose eyes she always filled in with gold. She threw out all those drawings, for some reason she couldn't put into words. 

And still she could not remember; still she did not understand. But it tugged at her, this feeling that something was missing, that something had been lost and wouldn't be found. 

As time went on, people would approach her with messages for her, but they never made sense. Not to her, not to them, not to anyone else. She did think it was kind of strange that they had the same kind of communicators as her, though, these ones that could be worn in your ear. 

The communicators! She handed them out, sometimes, though she wasn't sure why. She gave one to that funny banana man, mostly as a joke. Nothing was ever constant on this island anyway; the expedition team had broken up entirely and got involved in something else. Treasure maps, or something. She didn't care. Didn't really notice when Retail Row and Tilted Towers burned down and were rebuilt better than ever. She definitely noticed when the monster attacked, but mostly because the island government made sure she had a jetpack. 

It wasn't until the Zero Point appeared that she really started to worry about what she was forgetting. Weird that the monster had been hiding in Polar Peak all along. Weird that the meteor was now back on its collision course with Dusty Depot and hovering in the sky. Weird that these rifts shaped like butterflies were back around the island. Weird that beacons were going up in some of the points of interests and changing them, and not always for the better. She went to Loot Lake and jumped around in the antigravity field around the floating orb. It kind of reminded her of one of those dollar store bouncy balls. 

Then the countdown appeared, and she really started to worry, just the same as everyone else. _The end_ , they whispered, playing tapes of a voice none of them could understand. _The end is coming._

Or maybe, Lynx thought, watching the Zero Point suck the island away, it was just the beginning. 

* * *

_The Containment Field has stabilized. The Bridge is intact. The Seven succeeded. Our manipulations averted disaster. The Zero Point is ours, and the Plan can continue..._

So began the message she found on her computer when time resumed, and she didn't understand it. At least, not all of it. She knew about the Zero Point, and the Seven were those people in the rockets, but... her thoughts scrambled when she tried to pull on the thread that was waving in her mind. 

Waving like the flag above the bases of the new expedition team on the island. They called themselves E.G.O. and they made sure everything noteworthy on the island had a name. Much of it looked familiar, even identical at times. The streets of Pleasant Park were just the same as she remembered them, although now the scenery to the west was an ocean instead of the harsh cliffs she remembered. It tripped her up for a while, but eventually, the old memories faded and only the new ones remained. Just like always. 

But that flag. Everyone on the team had a certain symbol on their clothes, even the model, and it was very, very familiar. Lynx scanned their faces, but they didn't look familiar, or at least, no more familiar than anyone else on the island. She started to follow them across the island. She even enlisted the help of more people on the island to keep up on their activities. Handing out communicators like candy, even to sentient trees. (His name was Bushranger. Funny!) Lynx was determined to figure out what was going on. 

Then she started to hear that furniture on the Eye Land, at the heart of the map, had started turning to gold, and something really started to tug at her. Things were going to change soon on the island; everyone could feel it. But Lynx felt it more than anyone else. 

* * *

Lynx was not always the best at the game. Sometimes, she just wanted to goof around. 

These people behind her? They were not goofers. They were serious, and now they had the audacity to start teaming her. She ducked behind a log and hoped they would give up. 

Then, for the first time in a long time, her communicator started beeping. She pressed it, confused. Then surprised. Then delighted, because she knew this voice, somehow. 

_Get to the Agency immediately. You're needed._

So she stopped messing around. Dispatched them easily, and rushed to the center of the map, which bore a new label in her mind. _The Agency._

* * *

They were really here. 

People she remembered, as well as some people she'd recruited. She sat next to Brutus- Brutus! she remembered Brutus!- and stared at her old boss and her cat. Meowscles looked just the same, maybe a bit more muscular, but Midas had changed. His glasses were gone, and now a scar blinded one eye. The gold on his hands snaked up his forearms, much further than she remembered. But it was definitely him. 

He gave a short presentation when they were all present, and it was more about whats than whys. That bothered her, for some reason. Even after they were dismissed, even while she was catching up with everyone. She talked Brutus' ear off and gave Meowscles lots of pets, until finally it was just her and Midas left in the conference room, and he seemed very reluctant to speak with her. 

"I'm sorry," he told her, but she was confused. "For what?" she asked, because she'd only remembered their faces, nothing more. Nothing of all that time before the loop, nothing of how he'd thrown her into it without giving her the full story. He looked sad for a moment, actually sad, but it passed so quickly that she must've imagined it. "Never mind. Come with me," he said, and led her to his office beneath the Agency. 

It seemed to suit him, although nothing really stood out to her as familiar. Except... "Hey, it's me!" she said, pointing at one of the statues. He didn't say anything, just gestured for her to take a seat. But instead she spotted a picture on the bookshelf and went to it, slowly recognizing who it was and what she was wearing. "What happened to Jules?"

"What happened is that you were right about her, although I presume you don't remember that, just as you don't remember that you hated me the last time we saw each other." 

"Why would I hate you?"

"It doesn't matter. You'll forget even if I told you." When she looked back at him, he was staring at his hand intently, as if deliberating. He pressed his index finger to his thumb. "The details have changed, but everything is going according to plan."

"What plan?" She realized he was keeping his gaze on his arm, not her, so she followed his eyes. Slowly, his arm was turning more golden, sliding up toward his shoulder and under his sleeves. 

"Everything we've done so far has been for this, Lynx."

"For what?" She watched it trickle down his opposite arm, climb up his neck. She felt like she was supposed to be concerned, but it was a bit mesmerizing, and it didn't seem to bother him at all. In fact, he looked almost... happy. 

"You just need to focus on keeping our enemies out of the way."

"But why are you here now?" she pressed. 

"Because for all the danger and unknowns this island presents, there is a power here that is worth more than even my own bank account. Because this island has been under siege for far too long. Because there are people on this island and across all the universes who want this place for their own selfish goals." He was nearly beaming as the gold slid over his face. "I am going to save this wretched place from itself," he declared, as he gilded the last lock of his hair.

And Lynx believed him, because she had never known him not to get what he wanted.


End file.
